by Ally Sky
I’m not a celebrity. I’m not someone important. I’m a ghost, a shadow of myself. It doesn’t matter who I am. I can be the girl sitting next to you on the tube every day, or the guy sitting opposite you, drinking coffee and smoking a cigarette. I’m only my thoughts, my passions, and my love. I’m my fears and everybody’s primal need to be loved. My words are only a way to vent what may consume me if it stays closed inside. And you chose to be the audience. You even got a part in my play and an open invitation to suggest, share, and take part in my life. You came back each time to see the schemes, intrigues, and crazy ideas coming true in my life. A small article in the newspaper won’t change that. I’m still Talula, just the same old Talula. Whether I have two hundred readers or twenty thousand, I’m still Talula, who gets excited by her man’s green eyes, and whose heart still beats every day at the thought of seeing him. I’m still the same Talula, who is fighting to eat and fighting to feel loved and fighting to feel thin. I still paint and write and fear. That’s who I am—not my name, not the face behind the words. This is the real Talula. This, is me.
I post the listing, close my laptop, and go outside to smoke. Danny and John will be up soon. They mustn’t read the article. Nor Ben, either. God, I hope I haven’t gotten myself into trouble.
Ten p.m. Two knocks on the door and I wait. It’s been almost two months, and I still don’t enter his house without knocking. I’m just a random guest who comes to sleep in his bed, to feel his body inside me, to feel my heart filling up as I lie there, listening to him breathing on my neck. As soon as Danny and John went to sleep, I snuck out. Now, I’m standing in front of his familiar, white door, waiting for him to open it.
I hear the lock. The door opens. My man is standing at the entrance, barefoot, in jeans and a tight, white T-shirt. But one look at his face and I wonder where the smile I’ve become used to is. Sometimes he just opens the door without a word, and lets me follow him to the bedroom. But there’s something different in his look tonight, and I wonder if it’s something I’ve done.
“Hi.” I feel the tension.
“Hi.” He opens the door, lets me in, and closes it. Nevertheless, he continues standing there without moving, looking at me in a way that worries me. His eyes are troubled.
I stand before him, confused. “What’s going on?” My voice is faint and shaky.
He looks distressed, which frightens me even more. “We need to talk.”
Fuck. Did he read the article? I hope not. He won’t like it. Who would like to find himself spread all over the Internet in a way that leaves no room for imagination? A thousand hammers pound on my chest. Let him not be angry. Let him not get cross with me.
He looks away from me and goes to sit on the large sofa. This can’t be good. I walk toward him on shaking legs and sit next to him. He rests his elbows on his knees and buries his head in his hands.
“Talia, you can’t come here anymore.” His eyes are glued to the floor. He sounds wrecked.
My heart falls and crashes to the ground.
“Have I done something wrong?” I’m trembling.
He read the article, maybe even my blog. After all, the link was there.
“You haven’t done anything.” He lifts his head and looks at me sadly. “Something happened today, and you can’t come here anymore.”
I haven’t done anything? So it’s not what I think? What does he mean something happened today? It’s Saturday. He played football in the park the entire afternoon.
“I don’t understand,” I whisper, feeling weakness spreading through my body.
He looks at me gravely and just says, quietly, “Jenny came to see me.”
I can’t breathe.
Jenny? Where the fuck did she come from? Wasn’t she in India? And anyway, after everything I’ve found out about her, why would he care that she came back?
“She was here?” I ask hysterically, as the choking feeling in my throat intensifies. I’m not going to cry in front of him. No way. But my heart…
“She came by this afternoon.”
What does he mean she came by this afternoon? And what difference does it make?
“I thought she was in India.”
“She came back not so long ago,” he says quietly, examining my reaction.
I look at him with miserable, panicked eyes. “Why did she come here?”
I can’t believe this is happening. Five minutes ago, I was standing before his door, anticipating another night in his soft bed, and now this?
“Talia,” he speaks softly, “she wants us to try again.”
I try to pull some air into my lungs, but they seem to be completely against the idea. I open my eyes wide, stunned. “She wants you to get back together?”
“Yes.”
My heart just shatters. And it hurts, in a way that is indescribable.
“What did you say to her?” I ask quietly, although I feel like screaming.
Tell me you threw her out the door. Tell me you told her you’re with me.
But he doesn’t answer. He just stares at me, looking confused and frightened.
“What did you say to her?” I ask assertively, taking us both by surprise.
What is he saying to me? After everything that happened between them, after what she did to him, after our two amazing months together…
“You want her back,” my voice breaks. I look at him, struggling to contain the pain I feel, and a tear manages to break through the barrier and appears at the corner of my eye.
“I need to try.” The damn tear falls down my cheek. He looks miserable.
“So everything you said in the past two months, about not wanting a girlfriend, about not looking for anything serious, you never really meant it? You do want something serious, just not with me?”
The realization only makes me more tearful. This isn’t really happening.
He looks tormented.
Don’t put on an act. You don’t care about me. At all.
“Talia, you need to understand, this is the girl I thought I was going to marry and have children with.”
“You don’t have children because she had an abortion, and ran away! And now you want her back?” I shout.
“You knew it was never going to happen between us. I never lied to you.” His voice wavers, but he doesn’t reach out to wipe away my tear. He doesn’t touch me. He doesn’t hug me and tell me that it’s me he wants. He just looks at me miserably.
“I don’t understand.” I cry silently, tiny tears falling down my cheeks, my heart bleeding in my chest.
“Talia, I was with her for two years. I need to know.”
“Need to know what?” I feel shattered.
“If there’s anything left there,” he replies, avoiding my eyes. He can’t deal with the tears tonight.
“If you love her?” I choke at the thought. He’s going back to her and throwing me to the curb.
“Yes…” he answers truthfully.
“Did you sleep with her?” I look at him, crushed.
“It doesn’t really matter,” he mumbles.
He didn’t answer the question.
“It matters to me. Did you sleep with her?” I insist, becoming more aggressive.
“Yes.”
And the final, poisonous arrow imbeds itself in me.
I’m lying in bed, staring at the ceiling. I still don’t know how my trembling legs got me home. I remember slamming the door behind me and the tormented look on Ben’s face as he remained, sitting on the sofa. I think I heard him mumble some shitty apology, which I didn’t stay to listen to, as I left his house.
I’m drowning. Broken. I can’t think clearly. A terrible scream is threatening to burst out of my chest. Only tremendous willpower keeps it in. I won’t give him the satisfaction.
Son of a bitch. Son of a bitch like every other man, no more and no less. I’m so stupid. What was I thinking? That he could love me? Me? What exactly is there to love? I’m fucked up and flawed and the second he got the chance
to run away, that’s exactly what he did.
I’m so naïve. He whispered flattering words and kissed me like I’d never been kissed before. So what? It was just his way of making sure I’d continue giving him what he wanted from me, until something better came along.
And she did. The girl he wanted to marry and have children with. And he’s prepared to forgive her for everything she’s done—and to brush me off without looking back. I’m so pathetic.
Learn your lesson, Talia. All men are the same. They want only one thing. From now on, look after your heart, and don’t give it to anyone—ever.
Saturday
July 28th 2012
The Woman from the Past
I want to scream. Two months of passion-filled nights, of scheming and seducing, weren’t enough to stop the return of the woman from his past.
And everything she’d done, everything we’d done, was forgotten the moment she knocked on the door and took my place in his bed. He slept with her. He let her into the place that was mine for almost two months. He erased me in a flash and disposed of me without giving me a second thought. The woman from the past, with whom he almost had a child, who had an abortion and ran away, came back and seduced the man who was mine. And now he’s hers again.
Son of a bitch. Like every other man who came before him, he took and used and discarded as soon as a better alternative came along. Now I am supposed to pretend as though nothing has happened, as though he never existed and was never really mine. I didn’t want to listen to him. He said it all so clearly. But I had to hope, had to believe he would change his mind. Why? Why should he be any different from the others? Just because he knows how to speak kindly, dress well, and seduce me like I’ve never been seduced before?
His true face has been revealed. That piece-of-crap guy took one last look at me and threw me out. I hate him. I’m furious and I’m falling to pieces and all I want to do is…
Die.
I don’t want to get out of bed. I look at my phone: it’s noon. I’ve been lying awake for hours. Emptiness—that’s all I feel. All the other feelings that rise in me are horrible and destructive. It’s Sunday and I can’t deal with Danny and John staring at me. It’s unreal. It’s as though it never really happened…
Two p.m. Anticipated knocks on my door. I didn’t really think Danny would leave me alone.
“Talia,” he calls out. “What’s up?”
What’s up? Does he really want to know? I don’t think he’ll like the answer.
“Everything’s fine,” I answer quietly. He opens the door slightly. Shit! Why didn’t I lock it?
“Are you getting up?” he wants to know.
“No.”
“What’s wrong?” he persists.
“I broke up with Tom,” I mumble the answer I had prepared beforehand in order to explain my dramatic breakdown.
“Oh, Talia.” He sounds concerned and enters the room. “What happened?”
“What always happens…” I’m trying not to cry, but the damn tears flood me again.
“Darling, come to the kitchen. I’ll make you some coffee.”
“I don’t want coffee,” I sob.
“Then come to have a cigarette. I can’t believe I’m suggesting that.” His smile is warm and rueful. I know he wants to comfort me, and I know he’s starting to worry.
“I don’t want to get up,” I answer softly, hoping he’ll leave and close the door behind him.
“You need to get up. Come to the kitchen, let’s talk.”
He leaves, closing the door behind him. If I don’t get up, he won’t leave me alone. He’ll carry on coming to my room until I come out.
I get up, put on my grey sweatpants and white T-shirt, and go into the bathroom to brush my teeth.
The coffee is waiting for me on the counter next to Danny’s sympathetic smile. I take the cup and go out to the patio to smoke.
I sit on the small loveseat, my eyes closed, thinking this is the place where Ben kissed me. It seems like it happened ages ago. I inhale my cigarette and sip the strong coffee Danny made me.
“What happened?” he asks gently.
“I told you, it’s over.”
“Why?”
“Come on, what difference does it make now? I wanted more and he didn’t.” I provide an imaginary reason about my break up with my imaginary boyfriend.
“Talia, how do you manage to always find them?” He shakes his head.
Them? Does he mean that piece of trash who calls himself his friend?
“Well, does it really matter now?” I inhale again and release a stream of angry, white smoke out into the patio.
“What are your plans for this evening?” he asks with interest.
“I don’t have any.”
“John and I will be in the living room watching television, if you need anything.”
He says it in a calm and pleasant voice, but he’s worried. I know it. He has been in this situation before and, as hard as it is being me, I can’t even imagine what it’s like to be observing from the other side, helpless against my tornado. I know deep inside me a wind is accelerating and starting to twirl.
I remain outside on the sofa the entire afternoon. I get up just for a short pee. I light one cigarette after another, staring out at the blue, July sky. I’m paralyzed. I know a deluge of feelings is going to burst out of me. First to erupt will be rage, then cynicism, and then spitefulness, which will protect me from having to take a good look at my heart in order to examine just how shattered it is. It’s easier to be angry with him, for what he did, with the universe, for allowing it to happen, and with myself, for being stupid and naïve again.
I go down to the basement and turn on the stereo. Adele is scorching my heart again, and I paint my rage and desire for revenge.
I fall asleep on the sofa in the basement, not caring what Danny will say. I don’t care what anyone will think. I don’t want to see anyone and I don’t want them comforting me or telling me it will be okay. I know myself well enough to know that okay is probably the last thing it will be.
I am floating above the large, familiar bed. In it, a naked body with a golden back and muscular arms is caressing, kissing, and moaning loudly. I try to reach out and hug him but I can’t. An unfamiliar face is looking out from under the sweaty body. It’s blurred. But it’s not my face. I shout, but no sound comes out of me. I shout again, trying to stop him from moving, from moaning, but I’m mute. No one can hear me. The loving and familiar back arches, and he comes, shouting, “Jenny…!”
“Talia!” I jerk awake in fright and open my eyes. I’m still on the sofa in the basement. “Talia! Where are you?”
“Why are you shouting?” I mumble half asleep. My heart is pounding from that damn dream.
Danny hurriedly descends the steep steps. He’s wearing a suit and looks troubled and annoyed.
“Where’ve you been?” He’s standing at the entrance to the basement, staring at me.
“What do you want?”
“What do I want? It’s already twelve, noon! I’ve been calling you for the past two hours. Why didn’t you answer?”
“My phone must be upstairs…” I mumble apologetically.
“Why didn’t you go to work?”
Why didn’t I go to work? No, no, no, I’m not going to work. I have no intention of working for him. I don’t care how angry it’ll make Danny. I’m not going to walk around the city handing out his damn company business cards. As far as I’m concerned, the damned company can fall apart. It can go bankrupt—we’ll see if Jenny will want him then.
“I’m not going to work.” I get up from the sofa and go to the smudged canvas on the easel.
“What does that mean?” Danny’s eyes look angry.
“It means I’m not going to work.”
“What does your work have to do with what happened with Tom?” He’s irritated.
It doesn’t have anything to do with him. Maybe it has something to do with Ben.
“I’m not going to work, so save your breath,” I grumble. Now leave me alone.
“You are not starting that again.” He crosses his arms across his chest.
“If it doesn’t suit you, I can pack up my things now and leave.” I’m not looking at him. Both of us know I’m not really going to leave, and he doesn’t really want me to. No matter how hard it is with me, Danny wants me close, under his supervision.
“Do me a favor. If you need to take a few days off, take them and get your head sorted out. But I’m asking you not to put yourself in places we’re familiar with.”
“As if it depends on me,” I mumble, bending down to open the box of paints.
“You’re impossible,” he replies crossly. “I’m going back to the office. We’ll discuss this tonight.” He goes up the stairs, and shuts the door behind him.
We’re not going to discuss it. I haven’t talked to him in months. He has no idea what’s going on with me. And I don’t plan on telling him now. His best friend dumped me, and I’m just trying to figure out how to pick up the pieces and start breathing again.
At seven in the evening, I get out of the shower and go into my room. Danny has forbidden me to stay in the basement and threatened to throw out all my paintings and paints. Even though it’s clear to both of us it’s just a threat, I don’t want to take the chance. And I don’t want to fight with him again.
I lie down on my bed and open my Facebook. I want to think about something else, anything else. I just want to get rid of those terrible images from my dream, which have been stuck in my head since this morning. My man shouting out a name that isn’t mine.
I have a new message and I open it automatically.
He must be kidding me…
Ben Storm: Danny said you didn’t go to work today. He’s worried and so am I. Please, don’t do this. I understand you’re hurt and angry, but you don’t need to hurt yourself because of it. You love your job, and you’re good at it. Please, don’t throw it all away because of what happened. I never lied to you, ever. And I am sorry if you got hurt. Ben.
